Shivaay -Anika SS HIS PRINCESS
by Palakh Aggarwal
Summary: As a member of the royal family in a small country, Shivaay Singh Oberoi's presence is requested at the wedding of the century. The scholarly billionaire feels out of his depth in social situations, so a good assistant is required"especially when dealing with royal etiquette. Unfortunately for Shivaay, he's stuck with Anika,his oppsite.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

The timing of Shivaay Singh Oberoi's personal assistant-slash-valet was appalling. "What do you mean, you have the chicken pox?"

"I mean just that," The guy said into the phone, with a hint of the proper ruefulness. "My doctor assures me I won't be contagious after 10 days have passed. He suggested I stay in a hotel until I'm no longer contagious, because I know you can't get sick right now."

"You're f**king kidding me," Shivaay said, using his friend Rudra's favorite expletive. It seemed appropriate at the moment. "You're contagious for ten days? We leave tomorrow for Chandigarh. I can't go without my assistant."

"I realize that, sir, but I'm afraid there's nothing I can do."

Furious, Shivaay hung up the phone on his long-serving personal assistant. The man had never troubled him before. He had worked for Shivaay for ten years, all the way back to when Shivaay was an eighteen year old who insisted on coming to the States for his education. Shivaay's mother had insisted on sending an entourage of servants to join him as befitted his class. He'd fired all of them except for him. Someone had to pick out his clothes and drive him around, after all.

And now, when he needed his assistant the most, the man was abandoning him.

Shivaay stared at the pile of periodcals on the corner of his paper-strewn desk. Under a copy of Scientific American and Archaeology Today, there was a copy of Chandigarh National News, which he had imported in. And below it, Time magazine, which had the same damn headline.

COUNTDOWN TO THE WEDDING OF THE CENTURY, it read in big, bold letters. Below, there was a picture of his cousin,Crown Princess Soumya Rajput the Third, Heir Apparent to the throne of Chandigarh, and her Fiance, Bollywood star, Reyhaan Malhotra.

Not only was Her Royal Highness marrying an Bollywod actor, but she was marrying a very famous one, which meant that both Bollywod papers and Chandigarh ones would be covering it to a ridiculous extent.

Bloody annoying was what it was.

As the upcoming event was the wedding of a royal princess of Chandigarh, it meant every Oberoi and Rajput had been invited to the wedding and festivities, Shivaay included. And while he could get away from most of his titular duties since he was an unimportant younger son and lived stateside, he couldn't get away from this. The royal family"right down to far-flung cousins with better things to do"would be rounded up in Chandigarh to celebrate HRH Soumya's wedding. Shivaay fully expected to spend a week utterly miserable, avoiding paparazzi, smiling for photos (he hated photos), and generally avoiding whichever eligible princesses his mother threw in his direction.

All of which would be made even worse because his faithful assistant and traveling companion wouldn't be at his side. He needed an assistant. Shivaay couldn't keep his own schedule straight, and according to his mother, it wouldn't do for a royal to make his own arrangements. If his mother knew that his one and only assistant abandoned him, she'd resume her efforts into pressing him into a lifestyle he hated. His mother, Her Royal Highness Piny Singh Oberoi, believed that a royal lifestyle should consist of an entourage, and she never had less than forty-six staff in her employment at all times.

But Shivaay hated that sort of lifestyle. As long as he had things under control, he could live in his small, book-scattered townhouse, with only his assistant to assist him and a cleaning lady who came by to straighten things on weekends. It was how he preferred it. He hated hovering, and he hated having people around at all times. He hated 's mother thought fuss was a necessity for the royal family.

Hell.

He had to figure out something, and fast. His mother would suspect him the moment she clapped eyes on his tie. If it was even so much as askew, she'd hyperventilate and force servants on him. It wasn't proper, she'd say. Look at how he was running his own life into the ground, she'd say. Wouldn't it be easier if he had an equerry and a valet and a driver and a few maids, and the next thing Shivaay knew, he'd be tripping over people determined to make themselves useful. Then he'd have no peace at all. His loft would be crawling with maids and butlers and . . . he shuddered at the thought.

Shivaay's phone buzzed. He picked it up eagerly, hoping that his assistant had texted him to state that he'd called the doctor because he knew Shivaay was displeased, and had been cleared to fly. That he was returning to Shivaay's townhouse and it had all been a complete misunderstanding.

Sir, I have called the agency to see if they can provide a replacement. Will keep you posted. And I've arranged for a selection of high-end clip-on ties to be delivered this afternoon.

Dear God. The only thing worse than his mother seeing his tie askew was if she saw him in a clip-on.

Something simply had to be done.

"Ante up, boys." Rudra tossed his chips into the center of the table. "Let's get this show on the road. Some of us don't want to be here all night."

"You never minded before," Omkara grumped as he threw his chips after Rudra's. "Marriage turning you into an old man?"

"Nope," Rudra said easily. "Just eager to get home and see my firecracker. Pregnancy really increases a woman's hormones, you know." He wagged his eyebrows at the others in a devilish manner.

"Please, spare the details," Rohan said with a grimace. He added his ante. "Sana's a childhood friend of mine, and I don't want to hear about her raging hormones."

"Jealous?"Rudra said with a grin. He nudged Shivaay on the other side of him. "You in, buddy?"

"Hm?"Shivaay looked up from his phone, frowning at his assistant's message. It was two simple words. No luck. Damn it all. "I'm in." He forced his attention back on the card game.

Omkara put in his ante and arched an eyebrow at Shivaay. "Everything okay?"

"Just family issues," Shivaay said sourly, and reached backward to the drink table and grabbed the bottle of cognac. The others preferred whisky, but he liked something a bit smoother. He didn't bother pouring it into a glass, just opened the bottle, swirled it, and took a swig.

Now, both of Omkara's eyebrows went up. "I'm pretty sure," Omkara began, "that there's no such thing as just' family issues. At least, not in my experience. They asking for money?"

"If only." If he could toss a few Crores at his family and make this go away, he would. Shivaay chugged the cognac again. Maybe he should have gone for whisky after all.

Rudra began to flick cards out on the table, dealing. "So where the hell is Siddharth tonight?"

"Mallika said he was on his way," Omkara said with a shrug. "I assume he got caught in traffic."

Omkara picked up his cards off the table and gave Shivaay a curious look. "You nervous about the site visit?"

"Site visit?"

"The dig we sponsored. Spain?" Omkara looked surprised that Shivaay had forgotten. "We're supposed to go next week and see how things are progressing. You know they found a promising cache of coins."

"Damn it." He'd forgotten. "I can't go. I have to be at the royal wedding."

All the men groaned sympathetically. "God, that sounds like the biggest whipping ever," Rudra said.

Shivaay didn't disagree.

Omkara was frowning. "You're bailing out on me, man? But I""

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and all four men turned, conversation forgotten.

Siddharth appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in a heavy jacket, scarf, and carrying a box of Kleenex. His nose was red, his eyes bleary, the ugly scars on his face livid. He sneezed.

As Siddharth descended the stairs, his girlfriend, Mallika, trailed close behind him, a worried look on her face. "Do you need more cold medicine, baby?"

She looked like she was the one who'd been sick. Her vivid hair was pulled into a messy bun, and she wore a baggy sweater and yoga pants. If he'd have passed her on the street, Shivaay would have questioned if she was homeless or not. He still couldn't believe Siddharth had fallen for her. She seemed so very . . . uncouth.

"I'm fine," Siddharth said, though he hardly sounded like himself. His voice was raspy and broken.

"Oh, clearly," Mallika said sarcastically. She tromped to the bottom of the stairs after him and began to unwind her scarf, tugging off her jacket. "Hi boys, sorry we're late."

Shivaay groaned into his cards. This wasn't the first time Siddharth had brought his loudmouth girlfriend with him to one of their "supposedly" private meetings, and it annoyed Shivaay each time. "Really, Siddharth? You couldn't come without her?"

Mallika shot Shivaay the finger as she reached for Siddharth's jacket, helping him take it off. "He's sick as f**k, prick. I told him to stay in bed, but he wouldn't, so I came with him. You can just suck it up."

"Lovely," Shivaay muttered. "Just what the evening needed, a visiting harridan."

"That's my sister-in-law," Rudra murmured to him. "So can you shut your mouth before I hear about it when I get home?"

Shivaay gave Rudra an icy look. "Not you, too? Am I the only one who has a problem with the whole secret society' being secret?"

Rohan shot him a sympathetic smile across the table, but Shivaay noticed he didn't speak up. Coward.

"Hey, I know," Mallika said, giving Shivaay a wide-eyed innocent look as she settled Siddharth into the only empty chair at the table. "Why don't you take another swig of Shut the Hell Up' and let me care for my man?"

Dignity didn't allow Shivaay to answer. He settled for giving her his best cold aristocratic stare-down. It seemed to be wasted on Mallika, as she was currently fussing over Siddharth, and the scarred man was letting her. Disgraceful. When Mallika was satisfied with the state of Siddharth's attire, she turned around and sat in his lap. "So, what are we playing?"

Shivaay stared at her and waited for someone to correct her impertinence.

"Hold 'Em," Rohan volunteered, ever the suck up.

"Cool," Malliks said, and grabbed Siddharth's chips, wiggling on his lap. "I'll help him play."

"What, are his hands sick, too?" Rohan asked, a dry note of humor in his voice.

Mallika wagged a playful finger at him, and Siddharth only wrapped his arms around her waist, a pleased look on his face as he wiped his nose with a Kleenex. He seemed to like Mallika there.

Traitor.

Even Omkara, the head of their society, didn't seem displeased to see Mallika at their table. Sure, she'd signed a non-disclosure agreement in which she'd promised not to divulge a single detail of their secret Brotherhood, but it was the principle of the thing, wasn't it?

"We'll skip the private discussions this week," Omkara said, lighting a cigar.

Figured. He'd been looking forward to losing himself in some business talk. It seemed like everything was against him right now. He said nothing as the first cards were dealt, and chipped in his amount to match my bid.

"I'll see your amount," Mallika said, pushing chips forward. "And raise you that gigantic stick up Shivaay's ass."

Shivaay threw down his cards. "Oh, come on. This is ridiculous."

"Kids, kids," Rudra said. "Let's settle down."

"He started it," Mallika said sulkily. "It's that snotty accent of his. Everything he says sounds ten times more jerkish."

Shivaay glared at the hateful woman. "If you don't like it, feel free to leave. I don't seem to recall anyone inviting you here in the first place."

Siddharth only tightened his grip around Mallika's waist and gave Shivaay a small shake of his head, warning him not to pick a fight. Good God. A man fell in love and all of a sudden, he was letting his woman walk all over him. Shivaay vowed that he'd never let that happen to himself.

Rohan peered at Shivaay from over his cards. "You all right? You seem unusually moody tonight."

Shivaay rubbed at his face. "I'm having a hell of a time, thank you for asking."

Omkara grunted acknowledgment of this.

"What's the problem?" Omkara wanted to know. "Anything I can help with?"

"Not unless you have a spare assistant,"Shivaay said. He put his cards down, unable to concentrate. "My assistant-slash-valet is ill and won't be available to travel for at least another week, and I fly to Chandigarh tomorrow night for the circus that will be cousin Soumya's wedding."

Mallika gasped. "Holy shit. Princess Soumya of Chandigarh is your cousin?" She fanned herself, looking excited. "That explains that douchey attitude! You're royalty?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. He never tried to hold his title over anyone here to make them feel inferior, but at this moment, he was sorely tempted. "I don't see why it matters."

"That wedding is a huge deal!"Mallika exclaimed. "It's kind of neat that you're going."

"Except that Shivaay is probably almost as antisocial as Siddharth there," Rohan acknowledged with a nod. He shot a glance at Shivaay. "And it's interfering with other projects."

Damn. Shivaay was going to be upset about missing that dig for weeks. He just knew it. He'd go check on things afterward, of course, but it wasn't quite the same as getting that initial tour of the grounds and being there on site as things transpired.

"It doesn't even matter if I wanted to go," Shivaay said. "Which I most emphatically do not wish to attend. But if I don't have an assistant, I'll be forced to rely on my mother's staff." His collar felt chokingly tight at the thought, and he tugged at it and his tie. "So I need an assistant."

All of the men groaned in sympathy.

"What? What is it?" Mallika asked, curious.

"His mother is kind of . . ."Rudra began, clearly trying to think of the best word.

"Unpleasant," Siddharth offered, finally speaking.

"That branch up Shivaay's ass? It's an entire redwood for Her Royal Highness Pinky Singh Oberoi," said Omkara.

Mallika's eyes widened. "Holy crap."

"Thank you for that lovely reminder, gentlemen," Shivaay said in a clipped tone. "Ever so grateful. Really." He swigged his cognac again. Manners be damned"he neededthe burn of alcohol, and he needed it sooner rather than later.

"Well," Mallika said sweetly. "Siddharth has an extra assistant at his office. I bet he would let you borrow her. He's sick right now anyhow, and he's not going in."

Siddharth broke off into a coughing fit. He raised a hand, and Mallika pulled it against her waist, that saccharine smile never leaving her face.

Shivaay gave her a narrow-eyed look. Why was she trying to be helpful all of a sudden? After the hissing they'd done to each other across the table? "He does?"

Mallika nodded, holding on to Siddharth's arms while he coughed and hacked. The man did sound brutally sick. "She's very sweet. Hardworking. I'm sure she'd travel on short notice if offered overtime."

"I'm going to need someone who can run a very busy schedule for me while I'm in Chandigarh. There are many high-profile functions I must attend."

"I'm sure that won't be a problem. Anika's very . . . task-oriented. And she takes a lot of notes."

Shivaay pondered this. He looked at Siddharth. "You wouldn't mind if I borrowed her for a few weeks?"

"God, no," he said between coughs.

Mallika elbowed him. "He's sick and needs to be on bed rest right now," she said. "So he shouldn't be working anyhow. And if he needs help, he can count me in."

Siddharth eyed Mallika's disheveled appearance. "Quite."

But her smile only grew broader. "Want me to make a call to her?"

He considered this. He didn't entirely trust Mallika . . . but Siddharth wouldn't tolerate inefficient employees. He'd seen how the man's household was run. And to be honest, he was low on options. "I'll check in with my assistant again tonight, and I will let you know if I need her services."

"Of course," Mallika said smoothly. "Just let me know. I can't wait to hear."

Mallika was on pins and needles about the Anika situation. She fidgeted and checked Siddharth's phone a dozen times every few minutes, just in case. The poker party had wrapped a bit early, since there was no business to be discussed with Mallika there and Siddharth's hacking cough distracted all of them.

An hour after both of them returned home, Shivaay texted Siddharth with a message.

It seems I need your assistant after all. Think she can meet me at the airport at 18:00 with her passport, as much formal business wear as she can carry, and be ready to work? I'll pay her double what you normally pay.

Mallika snatched the phone out of Siddharth's hand as she tucked him into bed, read the screen, and cackled merrily. "Oh, my God, this is going to be so good. I wish I could be there to see his face when you send him Anika."

Siddharth grimaced between coughs. "He's going to kill me when he gets home, Mallika. You know she's terrible with etiquette, and you know Shivaay is a stickler for it."

"Anika is worse than terrible with etiquette," Mallika agreed. "But friendly and oh so sweet. It'll be the perfect situation, because she'll be so awful at everything, and too nice for him to say an unknid word about the poor dear. Then, he'll be stuck with her."

"You're lucky I love you," he said. "Because otherwise I wouldn't be able to save you from his wrath."

She grinned wickedly. "So can I call her? Can I, can I? Pleeease?"

He sneezed and waved a hand at her. "Just bring me some more medicine on the way back."

Mallika cackled with sheer delight again.

Anika was watching an episode on her small television, eating popcorn, and feeling rather homesick when her phone rang. It wasn't unusual for family members to call at odd hours, just because that was how her family was. "Hello?"

"Anika? It's Mallika."

She put aside her bowl of popcorn and licked her fingers to clean them. "Oh! Hi there, Ms. .Kapoor How are you?" Fear gnawed in her belly. If the boss's girlfriend was calling her after nine on a weeknight, that . . . wasn't good. Maybe she was calling to say that Mr. Rana couldn't put up with her any longer and was letting her go. She wouldn't be surprised; Mr. Rana was never quite happy with her, though she tried so very hard. She just sort of forgot things.

"Great. How are you?"

"I'm good!" She didn't say right as a pig in mud because she'd said that to Ms. Kapoor once and her eyes had nearly bugged out of her pretty head. They didn't say that sort of thing here in the big city, as she was learning. So the longer she worked in Delhi, the harder she worked on improving her speech. She was now down to "mostly country" instead of "fresh off the turnip truck."

"Well, Anika, the reason I'm calling . . ."

Anika squeezed her eyes shut, dreading the worst.

". . . is that Siddharth and I need a favor. Do you have a passport?"

Anika frowned. "Well, that's a mighty odd question, , but yes, I do. My ma says it's best to be prepared for anything, so I got a passport before I came here to the big city." She was rather proud of that passport. Not many people in her hometown had one. Not many people in her hometown traveled out of state, much less out of the country.

"Oh, that's lovely," Mallika said, and Anika could have sworn she was stifling a laugh. Ms. Kapoor was such a happy person, always smiling and laughing. It made Anika happy to see her with Mr. Rana, who could use a good belly laugh or two.

"Do y'all need more paperwork on me? I gave copies of everything to the employmentagency . . ." She let her words trail off. Did people need more ID when they were letting you go? She bit down on a fingernail, feeling miserable. She'd tried so hard, she really did. She never complained about the long hours or the fact that people who called in were rude to her. She just endured it. And she still wasn't good enough for working for Mr. Rana, she suspected. He wanted someone polished who would never ask a single question, and that just wasn't Anika. She was rather lacking in the polish department, sadly.

"No, no. I'm sorry. I'm scaring the crap out of you, aren't I?"

"Well, I might need to change my britches after this call," Anika admitted with a small smile. "But it's okay. I can handle it. What's up?"

"I'm calling because Siddharth and I need a favor. He has a friend who is in need of an assistant as soon as possible because his is sick, and he's about to go on an important trip."

"Oh?" So, wait . . . she wasn't getting fired? Thank you, god.

"Yes. His name is Shivaay Singh Oberoi. Have you heard of him?"

"Can't say that I have, Ms. Kapoor. Sounds a bit like a Harry Potter character." Anika loved the Harry Potter books. She was pretty sure she'd be a Hufflepuff.

This time, Mallika giggled out loud. "He's not. He's kind of a d***, actually. But, he's offered to pay you double time if you go on a trip with him and act as his personal secretary. He needs someone to manage his appointments and such. He's a bit absent-minded and Siddharth tells me he's useless without an assistant."

Anika had stopped listening after the magical words of "double time." Anika looked at her small, Goodwill-furnished, closet-sized apartment, and crossed her legs on the mattress she'd thrown on the floor that acted as her bed. A little more money would go a long way, though she'd never ask Mr. Rana for a raise. She wasn't a beggar, no matter what Delhihites thought of country folk. "So he's a jackass and needs his hand held while on vacation? I think I can manage that, Ms. Kapoor."

"That's it in a nutshell," Mallika said smugly. "I knew you were perfect for this job when I heard it. So can you go? He needs you to meet him at the airport tomorrow." She gave Anika some rattled-off details that Anika quickly wrote on a nearby newspaper, then said, "I can send you an email with everything if you like."

"That would be great, Ms. Kapoor. Just . . . are you sure you want me?"

"Oh, no doubt in my mind," Mallika said. "You were the first one I thought of when I heard he was looking."

"Really?" Anika's brows furrowed. "Why?"

"Oh. Um, you're young and you're not tied down by family, so I figured you could leave at a moment's notice. Am I right?"

"Yep."

"Okay, great. I'll text Shivaay and let him know. He'll be so pleased. Just pack all of your normal business wear."

She'd have to get a cab to the airport. Actually, no. Cabs were expensive. Maybe she could take the Metro instead. That was cheaper. "Can I ask where we're going, Ms. Kapoor? Is it England? Italy?" Oh, she'd always wanted to see Italy! Excitement began to spin in her mind. Double time and a vacation? It was like Christmas around here. Ms. Mallika was so sweet for thinking of her.

"It's a place called Chandigarh."

"Um." thought for a moment, then snuck a piece of popcorn and tossed it in her mouth. Geography wasn't a strong suit of hers. "Isn't that the place they're gonna have that royal wedding?" She didn't read a lot of tabloids, but it was hard to miss the headlines. A pretty princess was marrying Bollywood actor Reyhaan Malhotra, who had a chiseled jaw, a dreamy smile, and was in a lot of really bad movies. "It's so sweet."

"Oh, that's where you're going," Mallika said. "Shivaay's been invited to the wedding."

She choked on a piece of popcorn, wheezing. "Beg pardon?"

"Royal wedding," Mallika repeated. "Big shindig. Lots of stuck-up ass**les getting their picture taken."

Mallika coughed, the popcorn lodged in the back of her throat. "Oh. Oh God," she wheezed. She knew there was a reason why she liked Ms. kapoor. She was so down to earth. "And again, you're sure you want me to go to this?"

"You'll be fine," Mallika said, a coaxing note in her voice. "It'll be fun. Think of the stories you'll have to tell afterward! And don't forget, double time. All you have to do is make sure Shivaay gets to places on time and take his phone calls. It'll be easy."

And Ms. Mallika had wanted her to do it? Anika beamed at the thought. "You tell Mr. Oberoi he's got himself an assistant."

"Perfect!" Mallika sounded utterly delighted. "I'll send you an email with all the deets. Thanks, Anika. You're the best!"

They hung up and Anika immediately unfolded her legs, heading across her tiny apartment over to the rickety old desktop computer she had set up. She couldn't really afford a laptop yet, and someone had sold her this great"if noisy"computer on a street corner. She clicked it on and waited for it to start up, then she snagged a local hotspot and went web-surfing to find out everything she could about Chandigarh.

The Wikipedia page on Chandigarh was pinched herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming.

NEXT DAY..

"OMGGG," Anika breathed as the courtesy transport cart drove onto the tarmac toward the jet. She juggled her bags, clutching them in her lap.

"Almost there, Ms. Anika," the driver told her.

"That's rather a small plane, isn't it?" It didn't look very big. Or safe. She'd flown in an exceedingly large plane on the way to Delhi, with three rows across and goodness knows how many up and down. This . . . was clearly not the same kind of plane.

"It's a private jet, ma'am," the driver said, an elderly man who seemed to be having a great time watching her reactions to everything in the airport. "Some are smaller than others. This is one of the larger ones."

It was? She stared at it, gaping. "So there won't be any other people on it?"

"No ma'am. Mr. Oberoi won't be flying coach." She could have sworn he smiled to himself at the thought.

"Oh. Okay." She felt incredibly out of her depth at the moment. Anika clutched her luggage tighter. This suddenly felt a little time she repeated to herself. Double time. Mallika had figured Anika would be perfect for this job, and really, she was doing Mr. Oberoi a favor by traveling at the last minute with him. She just needed to remember that.

He needed Anika. Not the other way around. Lifting her head high, Anika resolved that she was going to enjoy this trip. She'd never left Delhi before, and this would be the adventure of a lifetime.

The cart parked in front of the jet and a wheeled staircase had been set at the door. At the top, a flight attendant waited. The man took Anika's suitcase from her arms and frowned a bit at the bright red tartan of it, along with the trailing ribbons she had decorating the handle. He touched one of the ribbons. "Did you need to secure these, miss?"

"Oh, no," she said cheerily. "That's so it doesn't get lost in the luggage pick-up."

"There's no luggage pick-up on a private jet," he said, smiling at her. "Otherwise, it's a smart idea."

She beamed at him for the compliment. "I can carry the suitcase, honey. No need for you to go up all those stairs."

"I don't mind. It's my job."

"You're so sweet," she told him, and the man grinned at her. Her Ma had always told her you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar, so Anika was always friendly to the staff. Heck, she was staff. These were her people. "I can't thank you enough for the ride out here."

"Just doing my job, ma'am," he said again, and gestured for her to ascend the stairs ahead of him.

Anika clutched her purse close, shifted her backpack onto her shoulder, and let him carry her suitcase. She was glad she'd worn low-heeled loafers with her skirted suit, because that staircase looked mighty steep. Didn't most flights normally have a tunnel ramp thingie you went down to get onto the plane? She supposed this baby plane was too dinky for that sort of thing.

Nearby, another flight attendant smiled at her. She was wearing a black-jacketed suit that looked way fancier than anything Anika owned. Her hair was pulled into an elegant twist and she wore more makeup than Anika. Still, she looked model beautiful. "Welcome. Mr. Oberoi is inside. Can I take your things?"

"Oh, that would be lovely," Anika said, and shrugged off her backpack. "You are so kind to offer. And my goodness gracious, you are so pretty!" It wasn't a lie"the woman was flat-out gorgeous.

She chuckled at Anika's effusive compliment and took the bag from her. "Thank you. Follow me, and I'll show you where you can sit."

The interior of the jet was nothing like the time that she'd flown coach. Then, she'd been at the back of the plane and the ride was so bumpy that she'd felt like she'd ridden a bull all the way to Delhi. They'd hit turbulence and it had given her nightmares so badly that she'd gone to the doctor for a prescription of relaxers, which were in her purse at the moment, for the next time she flew. She'd also been a middle seat, and had spent the entire terrifying flight squished between two fat businessmen, who'd looked terribly displeased at the thought of someone sitting in the middle seat. As if she could help it!

It hadn't been an experience she'd wanted to repeat. The trepidation of flying had been on her mind this morning as she'd packed her suitcase, but double time pretty much won the argument every time. She had her pills. She'd be fine. And then the attendant stepped aside and Anika got her first really good look at the private jet. "Beautiful."

It was like something out of a movie.

Soft golden lighting filled the cabin, the ceiling striated in a decorative seashell pattern designed to make the interior seem much bigger than it actually was. There were no ridiculously crowded"and claustrophobia-making"overhead compartments here. Instead, more lights were built into the ceiling, and beautiful carpeting in a soft, palepatterned brown lined the floor of the cabin. The few seats inside the cabin were enormous, made of a buttery leather, and a pretty table jutted out from each wall, accompanied by a flat screen TV on an arm that could be pulled out so the seatedoccupant could watch whatever they wanted. Anika counted eight of these seats, and in the back, there was another door to what must have been a private room. Flowers in small vases adorned each of the tabletops in the main was far nicer than her apartment.

"What do you think?" The flight attendant was smiling at her, clearly seeing Anika's awe.

"It's so . . . swanky. This is where we're flying?" My goodness, they were paying her to fly in this jet? She didn't know how she'd gotten so lucky. She couldn't stop smiling, either.

The attendant laughed. "It is. Mr. Oberoi is in the back room and doesn't wish to be disturbed at the moment." She inclined her head at the closed door. "Let's put down your things and I'll show you where the bathroom is. Just pick a spot."

Anika walked through the spacious cabin, running a hand over the silky-smooth leather of each seat before selecting one in the back. She wasn't quite sure where employees were supposed to sit, but she guessed it wasn't in the front. The back was always where the roughest ride was on a plane, right? She was pretty sure the boss wouldn't want to sit there, then. Anika picked a seat and sat down, then clasped her hands in her lap.

"This isn't like a normal flight," the attendant said. "So anything you need, you just let me know."

She patted her purse, now in the seat beside her. "I have my panic pills in here."

The attendant laughed and gave her a sympathetic look. "Afraid to fly?"

"Afraid of the crashing part,"Anika admitted. "I haven't flown much and it makes my heart race around like a chicken with its head cut off."

"Do you want a drink? I can make you a lovely cocktail."

A cocktail? "That'd be very nice of you."

She winked at Anika. "How about a mojito.?"

Anika had never had one. How could she pass up a nice fancy drink? "That would be lovely." She pulled out her purse. "Do you want to see my ID?"

The attendant giggled again. "Not necessary. This is a private flight. I'm sure you're old enough."

"I'm twenty-four," Anika admitted. She usually got carded, though. It was probably her silly curls (which made her look young) and her nose (which didn't help) and her round cheeks (which certainly didn't help). Without makeup, she normally looked like a teenager.

"I'm Tia," the attendant said, and bustled away, her h*ps swaying in that awful nice suited jacket. Anika smoothed her own polyester dress. She'd gotten it on sale. It had buttons going up in a fake seam and the jacket was attached to the skirt so the entire thing zipped up the back. It fit a bit like a sack, but it had been on sale, and you couldn't ask for more than that. She'd just safety-pinned it in the worst spots and called it a day. Of course, she'd had to take those out when they'd wanded her at security, so it was a little loose at the moment.

As she waited for her drink, Anika ran her hands along the smooth leather of the seats and tinkered with the buttons she could reach. Some were for air vents, some for lighting, and one let her call the attendant (which she didn't press). There was a control for the television, earphones tucked into a pocket on the side of her chair, and a fancy little pillow and matching blanket just for her, if she wanted them. It was impressive. Heck, it was nicer than some motel rooms she'd stayed in. The motel she'd stayed in while searching for an apartment had water damage on the ceiling and she'd had to share a bathroom with everyone else on the floor.

Tia returned a few minutes later with her drink. "Here you go." It looked like a Sprite with some chewed-up green leafy crap in it. Okay. Not quite as glamorous as she'd imagined.

Anika took the glass. "You're so thoughtful. Thank you." She sipped it and smiled at Tia. "Wonderful." It was pretty good, actually. She kept drinking as she settled into her seat.

As the minutes passed, the cabin remained empty. Anika tried to finish her drink quickly, so she could be done before they took off, but it seemed that they weren't in any particular kind of hurry. They were just . . . sitting here, waiting on Mr. Oberoi. Anika fished a piece of ice out of her glass and chewed on it, sucking the last of mojito off the cube.

Tia eventually returned and snagged Anika's glass with a smile. Before Anika could protest, she was pouring another. Well, she could drink another one of those. It was pretty tasty with all that mint. The plane began to taxi down the runway just as she started to drink her new one, and Anika chugged it, trying to finish it before they took off. That was just polite, right?

By the time she'd sucked down that second mojito, she was feeling a little . . . tipsy. Nothing ridiculous, just a little floaty and loose. It was probably because she'd drank them so fast. The plane stopped again, and waited.

Anika peered out the window. She couldn't see anything except the night sky and the lights on the runway. Why weren't they getting into the air?

The attendant floated past again, and as Anika watched, Tia went to the door at the back of the plane and knocked. "Ready to leave whenever you are, Mr. Oberoi." She didn't wait for an answer, just swung back around to Anika and smiled. "Another drink?"

"Oh, no," Anika said. "I couldn't possibly. Thank you, though."

Tia took the glass from her. "Go ahead and buckle up. We'll be leaving as soon as Mr. Oberoi is finished with his meeting."

Anika fumbled with her belt, snapping it at her waist and then tightening it. Anxiety began to gnaw at the pit of her stomach. She'd be meeting rich Mr. Oberoi, and they'd be flying"both things that made her very, very nervous. Combined with the drinks, she rather felt like she was going to throw up.

Time for her pills.

She fished the bottle out of her purse and peered at the label, uncertain of how many to take. One or two? There was a bright yello sticker on the side that said DO NOT MIX WITH ALCOHOL but it was a mite too late for that, wasn't it? She hurriedly popped one into her mouth, dry swallowing it.

Five minutes later, she felt nice.

So, so nice.

Mellow.

All floaty and wonderful.

Mmm.

In a pleasant haze, she watched as Tia buckled herself in at the far end of the cabin and they both waited for Mr. Oberoi to appear. Anika blinked slowly, and that was rather fun, so she blinked again, watching her eyelashes descend.

Wow. Who knew eyelashes were so interesting?

"We might be another minute," Tia said to her. "Can I get you anything else?"

Anika beamed at her and gave her a thumbs up. One hardly seemed to convey how good she was feeling, so she thrust her other one into the air, too. "I'm wonderful. So, so wonderful."

And she wagged her thumbs at the woman.

The smile on the attendant's face faltered a little in its sincerity. "Um. All right. Just let me know if you need anything."Anika thought for a moment, not an easy feat given the alcohol and pills. Then, she said, "Knitting."

"I'm . . . sorry? I don't think I caught that."

She flapped her hands"a bit like a chicken, really"and said, "These are bored."

"Anika?"Tia blinked at her. Hard.

"Yes. And my knitting is all tied up in my luggage." Anika made a sad face. "It's probably lonely." She stared down at her hands. "I bet it misses them."

"Your suitcase is actually just up here," Tia said, that curious look still on her face. "Do you want to get it?"

"Oh, that would be just peachy." She stood up"or tried to, anyhow. She was still buckled in, and it knocked her back to her chair. Anika began to giggle wildly. "Oops."

"I can get it for you,"Tia said quickly.

"That would be peachy, too," Anika said with a languid smile. "It's in a side pocket." Gosh, they were nice on private airplanes. She liked everyone here so much.

A moment later, Tia handed her the knitting, and she made a happy sound in her throat. So perfect. Now she could knit all the way to Chandigarh. Maybe she'd knit a hat for her new employer. Wouldn't he just love that? "Everyone likes hats," she mumbled aloud to herself, and began to knit.

"If you get a chance to bail out early," Omkara said to Shivaay over the phone, "you should really come out to Spain. They've found some interesting pottery shards at one site and a few new areas they'd like to excavate, but there's permits to be filed and funding to be acquired, so nothing can really move ahead without you."

Damn it. He really wanted to be there. The timing could not be worse. "It'll just have to wait a few weeks. I'm afraid there's no way I can leave early, short of insulting my entire family and offending the crown."

"I do not envy you," Omkara said. "Tell you what. I'll upload my photos online later tonight and you can get a glimpse of what I'm seeing here. I think you'll like it. The canal system is so incredibly impressive. I'm told that the swampy grounds make it hell to excavate, but I think it just makes it all the more promising."

"And we're sure it's Atlantis and not just Tarshish?"

"I don't know. The lead on the project, Doctor Dhruv, says he's uncovered something significant, but since you're the benefactor, he won't reveal it without you here."

Shivaay felt a little stab of pleasure at that, even though he knew he shouldn't. Omkara was one of his best friends, and trustworthy, but this project was Shivaay's baby. "I see. Like I said, it'll have to wait a few weeks."

"You've never seen a royal schedule around one of these functions, have you?" Shivaay asked drily.

"God no."

"I'll be lucky if I have an hour to myself."

"F***, that sounds miserable."

It did. That was why Shivaay preferred minimal fuss when he was on his own, and why he preferred being on his own as much as possible. It was why he made do' with one assistant versus his mother's forty-six staff.

There was a soft knock at the door. "Ready to leave whenever you are, Mr. Oberoi," the attendant said.

Shivaay ignored it and continued talking to Omkara for a few minutes more. He was jealous as hell that his friend got to poke around in the marshes of Spain for the next few weeks while Shivaay had to dress up in starchy suits, kiss babies, and have his blasted photo taken eight hundred times a day.

Rudra should have been an oberoi, not loved people. Shivaay could barely tolerate them.

When he could put off the inevitable no longer, Shivaay ended the call with Omkara, put away his laptop, and left his private room. He nodded at the attendant at the far end of the plane and sat in his seat, rubbing his face. He was looking forward to this about as much as one would look forward to a tooth extraction, or perhaps a vasectomy. He pondered a list of horrific things that could possibly be less painful than a week-long royal wedding.

He buckled his seat belt, closed his eyes and leaned back, and the plane began to taxi forward. Shivaay kept his eyes closed, relaxing, as the plane ascended into the air, the roar of the engines drowning out everything but his own thoughts. Eventually the sound of the engines leveled out, and Shivaay became aware of a new noise.

Clicking.

He frowned, opening his eyes just in time to see the flight attendant lean over his chair. "Can I get you anything, Mr. Oberoi?"

He shook his head. "I'm fine."

She nodded and disappeared, and the clicking began again. He looked to his left. Nothing. Looked behind him.

And paused.

What on earth . . .

There was a woman behind him. And she was knitting.

That was . . . odd.

This had to be Siddharth's had texted him last night and told him that she'd send her over to meet him at his plane. To be perfectly honest, he'd been so wrapped up in his own misery that he hadn't even given it much thought. It was just taken care of.

But this? This made him pause.

This woman was a mess. Her hair was a messy pile of cockscrew and wavy curls that haloed her head in a frizzy nimbus, barely brushing her slim shoulders. She was lightly tanned. Her face was round and looked impossibly young . . . except for the knitting. And she had on what had to be the most sincerely godawful ugly suit he'd ever seen. It hung off her small frame like a shapeless sack, and he was pretty sure that shiny fabric was polyester. Dear God.

He'd asked for competent. Experienced. Mallika had assured him that Siddharth's assistant was all these things.

Mallika.

He'd bloody kill her when he got back.

"Just who are you?" Shivaay barked out at the strange woman, furious. He was too polite to add the bloody hell that he wanted to that statement. This had to be a mistake.

She blinked slowly. Twice. As if it were difficult to do so. Long, black lashes skimmed her eyes and there was something peculiar about her gaze. Her eyes were extremely dark.

"Hmm," she said in a husky drawl that was so thick that it made him inwardly cringe. Small hands dropped the knitting into her lap and she stuck one out at him. "I'm Anika. That's Anika after both my Papa Aniket and Ma Ketki."

He just stared. "Please tell me the words Papa' and Ma' did not just come out of your mouth."

She tilted her head and blinked slowly again. Then she giggled, the sound musical and sweet and young. "You must be Mr. Gryffindor."

"Shivaay," he gritted. Up in the front of the cabin, he heard the flight attendant smoother a laugh, and he shot her an irritated look.

"I think I would be a Hufflepuff," she said, her voice quite serious. "They seem to be the happiest ones. Quite homey, Hufflepuff."

He stared at her a moment longer, and then looked over at the flight attendant. "Is she drunk?"

The attendant's eyes widened. "I only gave her two drinks, sir."

"Sounds like two too many," he muttered. He turned back to the wild-haired woman, who was blinking those owl-like eyes at him. "Are you drunk?"

"No sir," she breathed. "I'm Anika. That's Anika after my Papa Aniket and Ma Ketki""

"Yes, yes," he interrupted. "You already told me. And you are clearly drunk. Either that, or a fool. Why did Siddharth send you?"

"Double time," she said, and gave him a beaming smile. "You're caught in a poke and I get to make lots of money and a fancy trip to all them nice parts of Chandigarh."

Dear God, her accent got worse the more she talked. There were all kinds of revolting twangs rumbling out of her mouth. "Caught in a poke?"

He was really going to kill Mallika.

"Yes Siree," Anika breathed. "You're plumb outta assistants and so Ms. Kapoor called me and asked me if I could look after Mr. Gryffindor. And I said I surely could. How come you sound all English, Mr. Gryffindor? I thought you were from Chandigarh."

"Shivaay," he corrected again stiffly. "And we speak english and punjabi there. And I lived in Britain during my formative years."

"Ah," she said, and then leaned close. "Hogwarts, right?"

Bloody f**king hell. It was like having a conversation with a two-year-old. A very country two-year-old. He pulled out his phone and began to furiously text.

"Whatcha doin?" Anika asked, that drawl making him even angrier.

"I'm texting Siddharth to let him know how much I hate his girlfriend," Shivaay snapped. "You absolutely cannot be my assistant for this trip. This is a job that requires delicacy and an ability to maintain a tight schedule""

"I can do all that""

""and manners!" Shivaay barked. "This is inexcusable and utterly ridiculous and you are not going to be my assistant."

"I'm not?" The two words were soft and trembly.

He shot her another angry look. "Don't you dare""

But it was too late. The horrid creature burst into big, gulping, noisy sobs.

Shivaay had grown up in a family that prized restraint and considered emotional displays to be bad form. Crying? Never happened, not even when his father died. It simply wasn't done amongst the peerage, even now. And given that Shivaay normally wasn't his best with people, he really, really did not know what to do with a crying female.

This trip was going from bad to worse, and rapidly.

Shivaay stared at the sobbing young woman seated behind him. She blubbered loudly, her youthful face turning splotchy red, her wild curls bouncing as she wiped at her face with a cocktail napkin.

"Stop crying," Shivaay commanded.

She only cried harder.

This was ridiculous. He glanced at the flight attendant to see if she could help him, but she was averting her eyes, her mouth a reproachful line of disapproval. Lovely. It seemed that even his staff was not on his side.

With a sigh, Shivaay looked back at the awful creature that was his assistant. "What will it take for you to stop crying?"

She sniffed loudly. "I need a hug."

"You what?"

She extended her arms out.

"I'm not hugging you."

She began to cry harder.

Shivaay's jaw clenched so hard he heard his molars scrape. This was beyond ridiculous. "Stop crying," he said again.

"You don't like me," she blubbered.

No, I don't, he wanted to say, but he had no desire to see more waterworks. He decided to try manipulation instead. "I will if you stop crying."

"O-okay," she said, and sniffed loudly.

That worked? Really? That had been easier than he'd thought. Shivaay gave her a firm nod and turned back around in his chair. He'd give the creature some time to compose herself, and then he'd see the best way to get rid of her as soon as they stopped for refueling. He'd have to borrow a few members of staff from his mother, or his older brother, and he'd simply have to endure their incessant advice about adding employees and then cheerfully discard any suggestions once he got back to Delhi. He barely glanced over as the creature got up from her seat, likely to go and clean herself up in the powder room. He was still thinking about staffing issues and how his mother would point out smugly that she'd warned him of such a problem, and she couldn't possibly spare one of her own staff, because"

A shadow fell over Shivaay.

He looked up, just in time for the strange, bizarre woman to drop herself into his lap and wrap her arms around his neck.

He stiffened in shock.

Had this . . . horrible woman really just climbed into his lap and put her arms around his neck? It wasn't to be endured. He was her employer, first of all, and this wasn't proper in the slightest. He was also a royal, and no one touched royalty without their permission, even in this day and age. "Miss," he said flatly. "What do you think you are doing?"

She burrowed her face against his neck. "Told you I needed a hug," she mumbled. And she snuggled closer, oblivious to his rigid posture.

"Get off me."

She ignored him.

He looked for the attendant to help him out, but she'd disappeared from her seat, no doubt hiding up in the cockpit with the pilots. Blast.

Shivaay was trapped.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, trying to think. Strands of curly hair tickled his nose as she nuzzled closer, and he began to feel inappropriately aroused. Her arms around his neck were soft, her hairfragrant, and her slight hip was pressing against his co***. Any red-blooded male would have that reaction, he told himself.

All the more reason to get her off his lap.

So he thought for a moment. What was her name? "Get up, girl."

She gave a small sigh of pleasure and tucked her head even closer to his neck. "Don't wanna." Her lips moved against his throat, and Shivaay shifted in his seat, willing his c**k to quit responding to the touch of a drunk woman.

"What is your name again?"

"Anika," she breathed, and her soft breath tickled his skin.

"I need you to get off me, Anika," Shivaay said, mentally applauding himself at his calm, even tone despite the odd situation. "It isn't proper."

Her head jerked up, narrowly missing his jaw, and she peered up at him. As she did, he noticed that her red-rimmed eyes were a brilliant brown that seemed to glow in her face. Damn it, those were rather nice eyes for a little country bumpkin who wore polyester.

That was another thought he shouldn't have as her employer, he reminded himself.

"You still gonna get rid of me?" she asked, and her hand began to play with his hair, fingers toying with the base of his neck in a way that sent inappropriate shivers through his body.

Shivaay gazed into those big brown eyes. He decided to level with her. "This is a very delicate job""

"I'm good with handling delicate things."

Great, now his mind was thinking of those small hands playing with his hair and touching all kinds of delicate things. Inappropriate. Inappropriate.

"But this is a job that will require a lot of skill"" Oh, hell, now that was a particularly bad choice of words.

"I have skills," Anika said in a husky voice, staring up at him. The side of her breast was pressing against his chest, and it felt a great deal rounder than what that godawful suit led on. "I can file, and take messages and type and I'm a burn talker."

He was about to scoff at that paltry list of skills when he caught the last part of what she was saying. "A what? What in the devil is a burn talker?"

"It's me. I'm a healer. If you burn yourself, I just rub it and talk to the burn and make it go away." And now her fingers were rubbing the exposed line of skin at his neck. God have mercy.

"That sounds ridiculous," he said, and cleared his throat because his voice wasn't as convincing as it should have been. "And you should really get off my lap. This is very . . . inappropriate." He sounded like a stuffy prig.

"Burn talkers are real," Anika said in a dreamy voice. "We have great hands. Great at rubbing. I can take the heat out of anything with a touch."

Good God, his body reacted to that. Did she even realize what she was saying? "You really should get off my lap."

"You need me."

He groaned. Parts of his anatomy were agreeing with her, and that was making him furious not only with her, but himself.

She stared up at him again. "Are you still going to get rid of me?"

"I certainly am now that you are flinging yourself all over me," Shivaay began, and glanced down at her upturned face again. There was something else about her deep eyes that was bothering him. After a moment, he realized what it was. Her pupils were dilated to an enormous size. He frowned and grabbed her face, peering into her eyes. That was more than just two drinks. Concern flared through him as he recalled Rohan's horrific recent stories of his sister overdosing in front of him. His friend was still scarred from the fact. "Did you take something else?"

"Just a happy pill," she told him, petting his hair and looking up at him with soft, drugged eyes. "I don't like flying. It scares me."

"Damn it. Give me your pill bottle." He needed to see if she was going to start foaming or convulsing in the next few minutes. This horrible trip was just getting worse by the minute.

"'Kay." Instead of getting up, Anika twisted in his arms, mashing her br**sts against his chest as she reached behind her. There was no question"she was stacked in the front despite her baggy suit, and she was pushing them against him with enthusiasm.

Shivaay closed his eyes and counted backward from a hundred to distract himself as she shifted and twisted in his arms, rubbing all over him.

When he was at seventy-two, she twisted back to the front. "Here you go, Mr. Gryffindor."

He opened his eyes and flinched. This crazy woman had a purse that looked like a saddle. "This is your handbag?"

"Isn't it something?" She seemed proud.

"Oh, it's something," he muttered. He took it from her and began to dig through the contents, and his hand wrapped around a small pill bottle a moment later. He read the side of it and then looked over at her.

Her face was inches away from his, and she was staring at him, doing that weird, slow blink.

"It says that you're not supposed to mix this with alcohol," he pointed out unnecessarily.

"Did you know that you have a really straight nose?" She touched the bridge of his nose with the tip of her finger and then ran it all the way down to the tip. "Like one of them guys on the coins."

"Lovely. Can you get off my lap while I look up side effects of this on the Internet? No? Figures." He picked up his smartphone and typed with his thumb, while she played with his hair and ran her hands all over him. He had the biggest e****** at the moment, thanks to her careless touches and wiggling, but he suspected she wouldn't notice a thing . . . which was good, because he was rather chagrined about it himself.

It seemed that alcohol combined with her anxiety drugs made the effect that much stronger. Lovely. That explained her bizarre actions, at least.

"Your hair's funny," she breathed into his ear, and gave a soft giggle that made his c*** twitch all over again.

He flicked his phone off and frowned at her. "Funny?"

"It's like it's spackled down. That's funny." Her fingers played at the crisp lines of it. "I bet it'd be pretty if you didn't put so much hair goop in it."

"The last thing I want is to be pretty'," he told her in a tight voice. "Now. Come on. Stand up."

Though she protested (and if he was honest, so did his c***), he managed to get her to stand upright. He got up and when she put her arms up around his neck again, he figured that was a good thing, and lifted her into his arms. Carrying her to the back room, he laid her down on the narrow bed he kept there for flights . . . like tonight's."Ooo, is it nap time?" Anika's drawl seemed to get thicker with every word she spoke. "You going to come sleep with me, Mr. Gryffindor?"

"No," he said in a firm voice. "You are going to lay there and sleep, and when you are no longer out of your mind, we are going to discuss what we're going to do with you. Understand?"

"You're not very nice," she muttered as he laid her on the bed. She wiggled into the pillows. Her skirt hiked up, showing far too much tanned thigh, and he felt himself break out into a cold sweat.

He was definitely going to kill Mallika when he got back.

He averted his gaze and pulled a throw blanket over her legs so she was modest. "Sleep. We'll talk later."

"Not tired," she said, and then ruined it by yawning hugely.

"Stay there anyhow," he commanded her.

It didn't matter, because she was already drifting off to sleep. He watched her for a minute longer, completely confounded by the entire situation. Then, rubbing his face to refocus, he left the small room, shut the door, and returned to his chair.

And picked up his phone so he could finish his text to Siddharth. Your girlfriend is dead to me.

Sorry man. Anika was available, though.

She's rotten. She's wearing a polyester zip-up suit. It's disgraceful. I'm supposed to mix with royalty this week with her at my side?

There was a long pause, and then Siddharth responded. Mallika says that you're a snob. And Anika is very sweet and hardworking. We didn't lie about that. She was also the only one available at the last minute, so take what you can get.

I am not a snob. Well, he was, but he didn't give a shit, really. And she's going back on the first flight I can dump her on.

Suit yourself, Siddharth texted back. And a moment later, another text came through. SNOBSNOBSNOBBYSNOB.

Shivaay rolled his eyes. I hate you, Mallika. Give the phone back to Siddharth.

He got nothing but a smiley face in return.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 1

The timing of Shivaay Singh Oberoi's personal assistant-slash-valet was appalling. "What do you mean, you have the chicken pox?"

"I mean just that," The guy said into the phone, with a hint of the proper ruefulness. "My doctor assures me I won't be contagious after 10 days have passed. He suggested I stay in a hotel until I'm no longer contagious, because I know you can't get sick right now."

"You're f**king kidding me," Shivaay said, using his friend Rudra's favorite expletive. It seemed appropriate at the moment. "You're contagious for ten days? We leave tomorrow for Chandigarh. I can't go without my assistant."

"I realize that, sir, but I'm afraid there's nothing I can do."

Furious, Shivaay hung up the phone on his long-serving personal assistant. The man had never troubled him before. He had worked for Shivaay for ten years, all the way back to when Shivaay was an eighteen year old who insisted on coming to the States for his education. Shivaay's mother had insisted on sending an entourage of servants to join him as befitted his class. He'd fired all of them except for him. Someone had to pick out his clothes and drive him around, after all.

And now, when he needed his assistant the most, the man was abandoning him.

Shivaay stared at the pile of periodcals on the corner of his paper-strewn desk. Under a copy of Scientific American and Archaeology Today, there was a copy of Chandigarh National News, which he had imported in. And below it, Time magazine, which had the same damn headline.

COUNTDOWN TO THE WEDDING OF THE CENTURY, it read in big, bold letters. Below, there was a picture of his cousin,Crown Princess Soumya Rajput the Third, Heir Apparent to the throne of Chandigarh, and her Fiance, Bollywood star, Reyhaan Malhotra.

Not only was Her Royal Highness marrying an Bollywod actor, but she was marrying a very famous one, which meant that both Bollywod papers and Chandigarh ones would be covering it to a ridiculous extent.

Bloody annoying was what it was.

As the upcoming event was the wedding of a royal princess of Chandigarh, it meant every Oberoi and Rajput had been invited to the wedding and festivities, Shivaay included. And while he could get away from most of his titular duties since he was an unimportant younger son and lived stateside, he couldn't get away from this. The royal family"right down to far-flung cousins with better things to do"would be rounded up in Chandigarh to celebrate HRH Soumya's wedding. Shivaay fully expected to spend a week utterly miserable, avoiding paparazzi, smiling for photos (he hated photos), and generally avoiding whichever eligible princesses his mother threw in his direction.

All of which would be made even worse because his faithful assistant and traveling companion wouldn't be at his side. He needed an assistant. Shivaay couldn't keep his own schedule straight, and according to his mother, it wouldn't do for a royal to make his own arrangements. If his mother knew that his one and only assistant abandoned him, she'd resume her efforts into pressing him into a lifestyle he hated. His mother, Her Royal Highness Piny Singh Oberoi, believed that a royal lifestyle should consist of an entourage, and she never had less than forty-six staff in her employment at all times.

But Shivaay hated that sort of lifestyle. As long as he had things under control, he could live in his small, book-scattered townhouse, with only his assistant to assist him and a cleaning lady who came by to straighten things on weekends. It was how he preferred it. He hated hovering, and he hated having people around at all times. He hated 's mother thought fuss was a necessity for the royal family.

Hell.

He had to figure out something, and fast. His mother would suspect him the moment she clapped eyes on his tie. If it was even so much as askew, she'd hyperventilate and force servants on him. It wasn't proper, she'd say. Look at how he was running his own life into the ground, she'd say. Wouldn't it be easier if he had an equerry and a valet and a driver and a few maids, and the next thing Shivaay knew, he'd be tripping over people determined to make themselves useful. Then he'd have no peace at all. His loft would be crawling with maids and butlers and . . . he shuddered at the thought.

Shivaay's phone buzzed. He picked it up eagerly, hoping that his assistant had texted him to state that he'd called the doctor because he knew Shivaay was displeased, and had been cleared to fly. That he was returning to Shivaay's townhouse and it had all been a complete misunderstanding.

Sir, I have called the agency to see if they can provide a replacement. Will keep you posted. And I've arranged for a selection of high-end clip-on ties to be delivered this afternoon.

Dear God. The only thing worse than his mother seeing his tie askew was if she saw him in a clip-on.

Something simply had to be done.

"Ante up, boys." Rudra tossed his chips into the center of the table. "Let's get this show on the road. Some of us don't want to be here all night."

"You never minded before," Omkara grumped as he threw his chips after Rudra's. "Marriage turning you into an old man?"

"Nope," Rudra said easily. "Just eager to get home and see my firecracker. Pregnancy really increases a woman's hormones, you know." He wagged his eyebrows at the others in a devilish manner.

"Please, spare the details," Rohan said with a grimace. He added his ante. "Sana's a childhood friend of mine, and I don't want to hear about her raging hormones."

"Jealous?"Rudra said with a grin. He nudged Shivaay on the other side of him. "You in, buddy?"

"Hm?"Shivaay looked up from his phone, frowning at his assistant's message. It was two simple words. No luck. Damn it all. "I'm in." He forced his attention back on the card game.

Omkara put in his ante and arched an eyebrow at Shivaay. "Everything okay?"

"Just family issues," Shivaay said sourly, and reached backward to the drink table and grabbed the bottle of cognac. The others preferred whisky, but he liked something a bit smoother. He didn't bother pouring it into a glass, just opened the bottle, swirled it, and took a swig.

Now, both of Omkara's eyebrows went up. "I'm pretty sure," Omkara began, "that there's no such thing as just' family issues. At least, not in my experience. They asking for money?"

"If only." If he could toss a few Crores at his family and make this go away, he would. Shivaay chugged the cognac again. Maybe he should have gone for whisky after all.

Rudra began to flick cards out on the table, dealing. "So where the hell is Siddharth tonight?"

"Mallika said he was on his way," Omkara said with a shrug. "I assume he got caught in traffic."

Omkara picked up his cards off the table and gave Shivaay a curious look. "You nervous about the site visit?"

"Site visit?"

"The dig we sponsored. Spain?" Omkara looked surprised that Shivaay had forgotten. "We're supposed to go next week and see how things are progressing. You know they found a promising cache of coins."

"Damn it." He'd forgotten. "I can't go. I have to be at the royal wedding."

All the men groaned sympathetically. "God, that sounds like the biggest whipping ever," Rudra said.

Shivaay didn't disagree.

Omkara was frowning. "You're bailing out on me, man? But I""

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and all four men turned, conversation forgotten.

Siddharth appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in a heavy jacket, scarf, and carrying a box of Kleenex. His nose was red, his eyes bleary, the ugly scars on his face livid. He sneezed.

As Siddharth descended the stairs, his girlfriend, Mallika, trailed close behind him, a worried look on her face. "Do you need more cold medicine, baby?"

She looked like she was the one who'd been sick. Her vivid hair was pulled into a messy bun, and she wore a baggy sweater and yoga pants. If he'd have passed her on the street, Shivaay would have questioned if she was homeless or not. He still couldn't believe Siddharth had fallen for her. She seemed so very . . . uncouth.

"I'm fine," Siddharth said, though he hardly sounded like himself. His voice was raspy and broken.

"Oh, clearly," Mallika said sarcastically. She tromped to the bottom of the stairs after him and began to unwind her scarf, tugging off her jacket. "Hi boys, sorry we're late."

Shivaay groaned into his cards. This wasn't the first time Siddharth had brought his loudmouth girlfriend with him to one of their "supposedly" private meetings, and it annoyed Shivaay each time. "Really, Siddharth? You couldn't come without her?"

Mallika shot Shivaay the finger as she reached for Siddharth's jacket, helping him take it off. "He's sick as f**k, prick. I told him to stay in bed, but he wouldn't, so I came with him. You can just suck it up."

"Lovely," Shivaay muttered. "Just what the evening needed, a visiting harridan."

"That's my sister-in-law," Rudra murmured to him. "So can you shut your mouth before I hear about it when I get home?"

Shivaay gave Rudra an icy look. "Not you, too? Am I the only one who has a problem with the whole secret society' being secret?"

Rohan shot him a sympathetic smile across the table, but Shivaay noticed he didn't speak up. Coward.

"Hey, I know," Mallika said, giving Shivaay a wide-eyed innocent look as she settled Siddharth into the only empty chair at the table. "Why don't you take another swig of Shut the Hell Up' and let me care for my man?"

Dignity didn't allow Shivaay to answer. He settled for giving her his best cold aristocratic stare-down. It seemed to be wasted on Mallika, as she was currently fussing over Siddharth, and the scarred man was letting her. Disgraceful. When Mallika was satisfied with the state of Siddharth's attire, she turned around and sat in his lap. "So, what are we playing?"

Shivaay stared at her and waited for someone to correct her impertinence.

"Hold 'Em," Rohan volunteered, ever the suck up.

"Cool," Malliks said, and grabbed Siddharth's chips, wiggling on his lap. "I'll help him play."

"What, are his hands sick, too?" Rohan asked, a dry note of humor in his voice.

Mallika wagged a playful finger at him, and Siddharth only wrapped his arms around her waist, a pleased look on his face as he wiped his nose with a Kleenex. He seemed to like Mallika there.

Traitor.

Even Omkara, the head of their society, didn't seem displeased to see Mallika at their table. Sure, she'd signed a non-disclosure agreement in which she'd promised not to divulge a single detail of their secret Brotherhood, but it was the principle of the thing, wasn't it?

"We'll skip the private discussions this week," Omkara said, lighting a cigar.

Figured. He'd been looking forward to losing himself in some business talk. It seemed like everything was against him right now. He said nothing as the first cards were dealt, and chipped in his amount to match my bid.

"I'll see your amount," Mallika said, pushing chips forward. "And raise you that gigantic stick up Shivaay's ass."

Shivaay threw down his cards. "Oh, come on. This is ridiculous."

"Kids, kids," Rudra said. "Let's settle down."

"He started it," Mallika said sulkily. "It's that snotty accent of his. Everything he says sounds ten times more jerkish."

Shivaay glared at the hateful woman. "If you don't like it, feel free to leave. I don't seem to recall anyone inviting you here in the first place."

Siddharth only tightened his grip around Mallika's waist and gave Shivaay a small shake of his head, warning him not to pick a fight. Good God. A man fell in love and all of a sudden, he was letting his woman walk all over him. Shivaay vowed that he'd never let that happen to himself.

Rohan peered at Shivaay from over his cards. "You all right? You seem unusually moody tonight."

Shivaay rubbed at his face. "I'm having a hell of a time, thank you for asking."

Omkara grunted acknowledgment of this.

"What's the problem?" Omkara wanted to know. "Anything I can help with?"

"Not unless you have a spare assistant,"Shivaay said. He put his cards down, unable to concentrate. "My assistant-slash-valet is ill and won't be available to travel for at least another week, and I fly to Chandigarh tomorrow night for the circus that will be cousin Soumya's wedding."

Mallika gasped. "Holy shit. Princess Soumya of Chandigarh is your cousin?" She fanned herself, looking excited. "That explains that douchey attitude! You're royalty?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. He never tried to hold his title over anyone here to make them feel inferior, but at this moment, he was sorely tempted. "I don't see why it matters."

"That wedding is a huge deal!"Mallika exclaimed. "It's kind of neat that you're going."

"Except that Shivaay is probably almost as antisocial as Siddharth there," Rohan acknowledged with a nod. He shot a glance at Shivaay. "And it's interfering with other projects."

Damn. Shivaay was going to be upset about missing that dig for weeks. He just knew it. He'd go check on things afterward, of course, but it wasn't quite the same as getting that initial tour of the grounds and being there on site as things transpired.

"It doesn't even matter if I wanted to go," Shivaay said. "Which I most emphatically do not wish to attend. But if I don't have an assistant, I'll be forced to rely on my mother's staff." His collar felt chokingly tight at the thought, and he tugged at it and his tie. "So I need an assistant."

All of the men groaned in sympathy.

"What? What is it?" Mallika asked, curious.

"His mother is kind of . . ."Rudra began, clearly trying to think of the best word.

"Unpleasant," Siddharth offered, finally speaking.

"That branch up Shivaay's ass? It's an entire redwood for Her Royal Highness Pinky Singh Oberoi," said Omkara.

Mallika's eyes widened. "Holy crap."

"Thank you for that lovely reminder, gentlemen," Shivaay said in a clipped tone. "Ever so grateful. Really." He swigged his cognac again. Manners be damned"he neededthe burn of alcohol, and he needed it sooner rather than later.

"Well," Mallika said sweetly. "Siddharth has an extra assistant at his office. I bet he would let you borrow her. He's sick right now anyhow, and he's not going in."

Siddharth broke off into a coughing fit. He raised a hand, and Mallika pulled it against her waist, that saccharine smile never leaving her face.

Shivaay gave her a narrow-eyed look. Why was she trying to be helpful all of a sudden? After the hissing they'd done to each other across the table? "He does?"

Mallika nodded, holding on to Siddharth's arms while he coughed and hacked. The man did sound brutally sick. "She's very sweet. Hardworking. I'm sure she'd travel on short notice if offered overtime."

"I'm going to need someone who can run a very busy schedule for me while I'm in Chandigarh. There are many high-profile functions I must attend."

"I'm sure that won't be a problem. Anika's very . . . task-oriented. And she takes a lot of notes."

Shivaay pondered this. He looked at Siddharth. "You wouldn't mind if I borrowed her for a few weeks?"

"God, no," he said between coughs.

Mallika elbowed him. "He's sick and needs to be on bed rest right now," she said. "So he shouldn't be working anyhow. And if he needs help, he can count me in."

Siddharth eyed Mallika's disheveled appearance. "Quite."

But her smile only grew broader. "Want me to make a call to her?"

He considered this. He didn't entirely trust Mallika . . . but Siddharth wouldn't tolerate inefficient employees. He'd seen how the man's household was run. And to be honest, he was low on options. "I'll check in with my assistant again tonight, and I will let you know if I need her services."

"Of course," Mallika said smoothly. "Just let me know. I can't wait to hear."

Mallika was on pins and needles about the Anika situation. She fidgeted and checked Siddharth's phone a dozen times every few minutes, just in case. The poker party had wrapped a bit early, since there was no business to be discussed with Mallika there and Siddharth's hacking cough distracted all of them.

An hour after both of them returned home, Shivaay texted Siddharth with a message.

It seems I need your assistant after all. Think she can meet me at the airport at 18:00 with her passport, as much formal business wear as she can carry, and be ready to work? I'll pay her double what you normally pay.

Mallika snatched the phone out of Siddharth's hand as she tucked him into bed, read the screen, and cackled merrily. "Oh, my God, this is going to be so good. I wish I could be there to see his face when you send him Anika."

Siddharth grimaced between coughs. "He's going to kill me when he gets home, Mallika. You know she's terrible with etiquette, and you know Shivaay is a stickler for it."

"Anika is worse than terrible with etiquette," Mallika agreed. "But friendly and oh so sweet. It'll be the perfect situation, because she'll be so awful at everything, and too nice for him to say an unknid word about the poor dear. Then, he'll be stuck with her."

"You're lucky I love you," he said. "Because otherwise I wouldn't be able to save you from his wrath."

She grinned wickedly. "So can I call her? Can I, can I? Pleeease?"

He sneezed and waved a hand at her. "Just bring me some more medicine on the way back."

Mallika cackled with sheer delight again.

Anika was watching an episode on her small television, eating popcorn, and feeling rather homesick when her phone rang. It wasn't unusual for family members to call at odd hours, just because that was how her family was. "Hello?"

"Anika? It's Mallika."

She put aside her bowl of popcorn and licked her fingers to clean them. "Oh! Hi there, Ms. .Kapoor How are you?" Fear gnawed in her belly. If the boss's girlfriend was calling her after nine on a weeknight, that . . . wasn't good. Maybe she was calling to say that Mr. Rana couldn't put up with her any longer and was letting her go. She wouldn't be surprised; Mr. Rana was never quite happy with her, though she tried so very hard. She just sort of forgot things.

"Great. How are you?"

"I'm good!" She didn't say right as a pig in mud because she'd said that to Ms. Kapoor once and her eyes had nearly bugged out of her pretty head. They didn't say that sort of thing here in the big city, as she was learning. So the longer she worked in Delhi, the harder she worked on improving her speech. She was now down to "mostly country" instead of "fresh off the turnip truck."

"Well, Anika, the reason I'm calling . . ."

Anika squeezed her eyes shut, dreading the worst.

". . . is that Siddharth and I need a favor. Do you have a passport?"

Anika frowned. "Well, that's a mighty odd question, , but yes, I do. My ma says it's best to be prepared for anything, so I got a passport before I came here to the big city." She was rather proud of that passport. Not many people in her hometown had one. Not many people in her hometown traveled out of state, much less out of the country.

"Oh, that's lovely," Mallika said, and Anika could have sworn she was stifling a laugh. Ms. Kapoor was such a happy person, always smiling and laughing. It made Anika happy to see her with Mr. Rana, who could use a good belly laugh or two.

"Do y'all need more paperwork on me? I gave copies of everything to the employmentagency . . ." She let her words trail off. Did people need more ID when they were letting you go? She bit down on a fingernail, feeling miserable. She'd tried so hard, she really did. She never complained about the long hours or the fact that people who called in were rude to her. She just endured it. And she still wasn't good enough for working for Mr. Rana, she suspected. He wanted someone polished who would never ask a single question, and that just wasn't Anika. She was rather lacking in the polish department, sadly.

"No, no. I'm sorry. I'm scaring the crap out of you, aren't I?"

"Well, I might need to change my britches after this call," Anika admitted with a small smile. "But it's okay. I can handle it. What's up?"

"I'm calling because Siddharth and I need a favor. He has a friend who is in need of an assistant as soon as possible because his is sick, and he's about to go on an important trip."

"Oh?" So, wait . . . she wasn't getting fired? Thank you, god.

"Yes. His name is Shivaay Singh Oberoi. Have you heard of him?"

"Can't say that I have, Ms. Kapoor. Sounds a bit like a Harry Potter character." Anika loved the Harry Potter books. She was pretty sure she'd be a Hufflepuff.

This time, Mallika giggled out loud. "He's not. He's kind of a d***, actually. But, he's offered to pay you double time if you go on a trip with him and act as his personal secretary. He needs someone to manage his appointments and such. He's a bit absent-minded and Siddharth tells me he's useless without an assistant."

Anika had stopped listening after the magical words of "double time." Anika looked at her small, Goodwill-furnished, closet-sized apartment, and crossed her legs on the mattress she'd thrown on the floor that acted as her bed. A little more money would go a long way, though she'd never ask Mr. Rana for a raise. She wasn't a beggar, no matter what Delhihites thought of country folk. "So he's a jackass and needs his hand held while on vacation? I think I can manage that, Ms. Kapoor."

"That's it in a nutshell," Mallika said smugly. "I knew you were perfect for this job when I heard it. So can you go? He needs you to meet him at the airport tomorrow." She gave Anika some rattled-off details that Anika quickly wrote on a nearby newspaper, then said, "I can send you an email with everything if you like."

"That would be great, Ms. Kapoor. Just . . . are you sure you want me?"

"Oh, no doubt in my mind," Mallika said. "You were the first one I thought of when I heard he was looking."

"Really?" Anika's brows furrowed. "Why?"

"Oh. Um, you're young and you're not tied down by family, so I figured you could leave at a moment's notice. Am I right?"

"Yep."

"Okay, great. I'll text Shivaay and let him know. He'll be so pleased. Just pack all of your normal business wear."

She'd have to get a cab to the airport. Actually, no. Cabs were expensive. Maybe she could take the Metro instead. That was cheaper. "Can I ask where we're going, Ms. Kapoor? Is it England? Italy?" Oh, she'd always wanted to see Italy! Excitement began to spin in her mind. Double time and a vacation? It was like Christmas around here. Ms. Mallika was so sweet for thinking of her.

"It's a place called Chandigarh."

"Um." thought for a moment, then snuck a piece of popcorn and tossed it in her mouth. Geography wasn't a strong suit of hers. "Isn't that the place they're gonna have that royal wedding?" She didn't read a lot of tabloids, but it was hard to miss the headlines. A pretty princess was marrying Bollywood actor Reyhaan Malhotra, who had a chiseled jaw, a dreamy smile, and was in a lot of really bad movies. "It's so sweet."

"Oh, that's where you're going," Mallika said. "Shivaay's been invited to the wedding."

She choked on a piece of popcorn, wheezing. "Beg pardon?"

"Royal wedding," Mallika repeated. "Big shindig. Lots of stuck-up ass**les getting their picture taken."

Mallika coughed, the popcorn lodged in the back of her throat. "Oh. Oh God," she wheezed. She knew there was a reason why she liked Ms. kapoor. She was so down to earth. "And again, you're sure you want me to go to this?"

"You'll be fine," Mallika said, a coaxing note in her voice. "It'll be fun. Think of the stories you'll have to tell afterward! And don't forget, double time. All you have to do is make sure Shivaay gets to places on time and take his phone calls. It'll be easy."

And Ms. Mallika had wanted her to do it? Anika beamed at the thought. "You tell Mr. Oberoi he's got himself an assistant."

"Perfect!" Mallika sounded utterly delighted. "I'll send you an email with all the deets. Thanks, Anika. You're the best!"

They hung up and Anika immediately unfolded her legs, heading across her tiny apartment over to the rickety old desktop computer she had set up. She couldn't really afford a laptop yet, and someone had sold her this great"if noisy"computer on a street corner. She clicked it on and waited for it to start up, then she snagged a local hotspot and went web-surfing to find out everything she could about Chandigarh.

The Wikipedia page on Chandigarh was pinched herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming.

NEXT DAY..

"OMGGG," Anika breathed as the courtesy transport cart drove onto the tarmac toward the jet. She juggled her bags, clutching them in her lap.

"Almost there, Ms. Anika," the driver told her.

"That's rather a small plane, isn't it?" It didn't look very big. Or safe. She'd flown in an exceedingly large plane on the way to Delhi, with three rows across and goodness knows how many up and down. This . . . was clearly not the same kind of plane.

"It's a private jet, ma'am," the driver said, an elderly man who seemed to be having a great time watching her reactions to everything in the airport. "Some are smaller than others. This is one of the larger ones."

It was? She stared at it, gaping. "So there won't be any other people on it?"

"No ma'am. Mr. Oberoi won't be flying coach." She could have sworn he smiled to himself at the thought.

"Oh. Okay." She felt incredibly out of her depth at the moment. Anika clutched her luggage tighter. This suddenly felt a little time she repeated to herself. Double time. Mallika had figured Anika would be perfect for this job, and really, she was doing Mr. Oberoi a favor by traveling at the last minute with him. She just needed to remember that.

He needed Anika. Not the other way around. Lifting her head high, Anika resolved that she was going to enjoy this trip. She'd never left Delhi before, and this would be the adventure of a lifetime.

The cart parked in front of the jet and a wheeled staircase had been set at the door. At the top, a flight attendant waited. The man took Anika's suitcase from her arms and frowned a bit at the bright red tartan of it, along with the trailing ribbons she had decorating the handle. He touched one of the ribbons. "Did you need to secure these, miss?"

"Oh, no," she said cheerily. "That's so it doesn't get lost in the luggage pick-up."

"There's no luggage pick-up on a private jet," he said, smiling at her. "Otherwise, it's a smart idea."

She beamed at him for the compliment. "I can carry the suitcase, honey. No need for you to go up all those stairs."

"I don't mind. It's my job."

"You're so sweet," she told him, and the man grinned at her. Her Ma had always told her you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar, so Anika was always friendly to the staff. Heck, she was staff. These were her people. "I can't thank you enough for the ride out here."

"Just doing my job, ma'am," he said again, and gestured for her to ascend the stairs ahead of him.

Anika clutched her purse close, shifted her backpack onto her shoulder, and let him carry her suitcase. She was glad she'd worn low-heeled loafers with her skirted suit, because that staircase looked mighty steep. Didn't most flights normally have a tunnel ramp thingie you went down to get onto the plane? She supposed this baby plane was too dinky for that sort of thing.

Nearby, another flight attendant smiled at her. She was wearing a black-jacketed suit that looked way fancier than anything Anika owned. Her hair was pulled into an elegant twist and she wore more makeup than Anika. Still, she looked model beautiful. "Welcome. Mr. Oberoi is inside. Can I take your things?"

"Oh, that would be lovely," Anika said, and shrugged off her backpack. "You are so kind to offer. And my goodness gracious, you are so pretty!" It wasn't a lie"the woman was flat-out gorgeous.

She chuckled at Anika's effusive compliment and took the bag from her. "Thank you. Follow me, and I'll show you where you can sit."

The interior of the jet was nothing like the time that she'd flown coach. Then, she'd been at the back of the plane and the ride was so bumpy that she'd felt like she'd ridden a bull all the way to Delhi. They'd hit turbulence and it had given her nightmares so badly that she'd gone to the doctor for a prescription of relaxers, which were in her purse at the moment, for the next time she flew. She'd also been a middle seat, and had spent the entire terrifying flight squished between two fat businessmen, who'd looked terribly displeased at the thought of someone sitting in the middle seat. As if she could help it!

It hadn't been an experience she'd wanted to repeat. The trepidation of flying had been on her mind this morning as she'd packed her suitcase, but double time pretty much won the argument every time. She had her pills. She'd be fine. And then the attendant stepped aside and Anika got her first really good look at the private jet. "Beautiful."

It was like something out of a movie.

Soft golden lighting filled the cabin, the ceiling striated in a decorative seashell pattern designed to make the interior seem much bigger than it actually was. There were no ridiculously crowded"and claustrophobia-making"overhead compartments here. Instead, more lights were built into the ceiling, and beautiful carpeting in a soft, palepatterned brown lined the floor of the cabin. The few seats inside the cabin were enormous, made of a buttery leather, and a pretty table jutted out from each wall, accompanied by a flat screen TV on an arm that could be pulled out so the seatedoccupant could watch whatever they wanted. Anika counted eight of these seats, and in the back, there was another door to what must have been a private room. Flowers in small vases adorned each of the tabletops in the main was far nicer than her apartment.

"What do you think?" The flight attendant was smiling at her, clearly seeing Anika's awe.

"It's so . . . swanky. This is where we're flying?" My goodness, they were paying her to fly in this jet? She didn't know how she'd gotten so lucky. She couldn't stop smiling, either.

The attendant laughed. "It is. Mr. Oberoi is in the back room and doesn't wish to be disturbed at the moment." She inclined her head at the closed door. "Let's put down your things and I'll show you where the bathroom is. Just pick a spot."

Anika walked through the spacious cabin, running a hand over the silky-smooth leather of each seat before selecting one in the back. She wasn't quite sure where employees were supposed to sit, but she guessed it wasn't in the front. The back was always where the roughest ride was on a plane, right? She was pretty sure the boss wouldn't want to sit there, then. Anika picked a seat and sat down, then clasped her hands in her lap.

"This isn't like a normal flight," the attendant said. "So anything you need, you just let me know."

She patted her purse, now in the seat beside her. "I have my panic pills in here."

The attendant laughed and gave her a sympathetic look. "Afraid to fly?"

"Afraid of the crashing part,"Anika admitted. "I haven't flown much and it makes my heart race around like a chicken with its head cut off."

"Do you want a drink? I can make you a lovely cocktail."

A cocktail? "That'd be very nice of you."

She winked at Anika. "How about a mojito.?"

Anika had never had one. How could she pass up a nice fancy drink? "That would be lovely." She pulled out her purse. "Do you want to see my ID?"

The attendant giggled again. "Not necessary. This is a private flight. I'm sure you're old enough."

"I'm twenty-four," Anika admitted. She usually got carded, though. It was probably her silly curls (which made her look young) and her nose (which didn't help) and her round cheeks (which certainly didn't help). Without makeup, she normally looked like a teenager.

"I'm Tia," the attendant said, and bustled away, her h*ps swaying in that awful nice suited jacket. Anika smoothed her own polyester dress. She'd gotten it on sale. It had buttons going up in a fake seam and the jacket was attached to the skirt so the entire thing zipped up the back. It fit a bit like a sack, but it had been on sale, and you couldn't ask for more than that. She'd just safety-pinned it in the worst spots and called it a day. Of course, she'd had to take those out when they'd wanded her at security, so it was a little loose at the moment.

As she waited for her drink, Anika ran her hands along the smooth leather of the seats and tinkered with the buttons she could reach. Some were for air vents, some for lighting, and one let her call the attendant (which she didn't press). There was a control for the television, earphones tucked into a pocket on the side of her chair, and a fancy little pillow and matching blanket just for her, if she wanted them. It was impressive. Heck, it was nicer than some motel rooms she'd stayed in. The motel she'd stayed in while searching for an apartment had water damage on the ceiling and she'd had to share a bathroom with everyone else on the floor.

Tia returned a few minutes later with her drink. "Here you go." It looked like a Sprite with some chewed-up green leafy crap in it. Okay. Not quite as glamorous as she'd imagined.

Anika took the glass. "You're so thoughtful. Thank you." She sipped it and smiled at Tia. "Wonderful." It was pretty good, actually. She kept drinking as she settled into her seat.

As the minutes passed, the cabin remained empty. Anika tried to finish her drink quickly, so she could be done before they took off, but it seemed that they weren't in any particular kind of hurry. They were just . . . sitting here, waiting on Mr. Oberoi. Anika fished a piece of ice out of her glass and chewed on it, sucking the last of mojito off the cube.

Tia eventually returned and snagged Anika's glass with a smile. Before Anika could protest, she was pouring another. Well, she could drink another one of those. It was pretty tasty with all that mint. The plane began to taxi down the runway just as she started to drink her new one, and Anika chugged it, trying to finish it before they took off. That was just polite, right?

By the time she'd sucked down that second mojito, she was feeling a little . . . tipsy. Nothing ridiculous, just a little floaty and loose. It was probably because she'd drank them so fast. The plane stopped again, and waited.

Anika peered out the window. She couldn't see anything except the night sky and the lights on the runway. Why weren't they getting into the air?

The attendant floated past again, and as Anika watched, Tia went to the door at the back of the plane and knocked. "Ready to leave whenever you are, Mr. Oberoi." She didn't wait for an answer, just swung back around to Anika and smiled. "Another drink?"

"Oh, no," Anika said. "I couldn't possibly. Thank you, though."

Tia took the glass from her. "Go ahead and buckle up. We'll be leaving as soon as Mr. Oberoi is finished with his meeting."

Anika fumbled with her belt, snapping it at her waist and then tightening it. Anxiety began to gnaw at the pit of her stomach. She'd be meeting rich Mr. Oberoi, and they'd be flying"both things that made her very, very nervous. Combined with the drinks, she rather felt like she was going to throw up.

Time for her pills.

She fished the bottle out of her purse and peered at the label, uncertain of how many to take. One or two? There was a bright yello sticker on the side that said DO NOT MIX WITH ALCOHOL but it was a mite too late for that, wasn't it? She hurriedly popped one into her mouth, dry swallowing it.

Five minutes later, she felt nice.

So, so nice.

Mellow.

All floaty and wonderful.

Mmm.

In a pleasant haze, she watched as Tia buckled herself in at the far end of the cabin and they both waited for Mr. Oberoi to appear. Anika blinked slowly, and that was rather fun, so she blinked again, watching her eyelashes descend.

Wow. Who knew eyelashes were so interesting?

"We might be another minute," Tia said to her. "Can I get you anything else?"

Anika beamed at her and gave her a thumbs up. One hardly seemed to convey how good she was feeling, so she thrust her other one into the air, too. "I'm wonderful. So, so wonderful."

And she wagged her thumbs at the woman.

The smile on the attendant's face faltered a little in its sincerity. "Um. All right. Just let me know if you need anything."Anika thought for a moment, not an easy feat given the alcohol and pills. Then, she said, "Knitting."

"I'm . . . sorry? I don't think I caught that."

She flapped her hands"a bit like a chicken, really"and said, "These are bored."

"Anika?"Tia blinked at her. Hard.

"Yes. And my knitting is all tied up in my luggage." Anika made a sad face. "It's probably lonely." She stared down at her hands. "I bet it misses them."

"Your suitcase is actually just up here," Tia said, that curious look still on her face. "Do you want to get it?"

"Oh, that would be just peachy." She stood up"or tried to, anyhow. She was still buckled in, and it knocked her back to her chair. Anika began to giggle wildly. "Oops."

"I can get it for you,"Tia said quickly.

"That would be peachy, too," Anika said with a languid smile. "It's in a side pocket." Gosh, they were nice on private airplanes. She liked everyone here so much.

A moment later, Tia handed her the knitting, and she made a happy sound in her throat. So perfect. Now she could knit all the way to Chandigarh. Maybe she'd knit a hat for her new employer. Wouldn't he just love that? "Everyone likes hats," she mumbled aloud to herself, and began to knit.

"If you get a chance to bail out early," Omkara said to Shivaay over the phone, "you should really come out to Spain. They've found some interesting pottery shards at one site and a few new areas they'd like to excavate, but there's permits to be filed and funding to be acquired, so nothing can really move ahead without you."

Damn it. He really wanted to be there. The timing could not be worse. "It'll just have to wait a few weeks. I'm afraid there's no way I can leave early, short of insulting my entire family and offending the crown."

"I do not envy you," Omkara said. "Tell you what. I'll upload my photos online later tonight and you can get a glimpse of what I'm seeing here. I think you'll like it. The canal system is so incredibly impressive. I'm told that the swampy grounds make it hell to excavate, but I think it just makes it all the more promising."

"And we're sure it's Atlantis and not just Tarshish?"

"I don't know. The lead on the project, Doctor Dhruv, says he's uncovered something significant, but since you're the benefactor, he won't reveal it without you here."

Shivaay felt a little stab of pleasure at that, even though he knew he shouldn't. Omkara was one of his best friends, and trustworthy, but this project was Shivaay's baby. "I see. Like I said, it'll have to wait a few weeks."

"You've never seen a royal schedule around one of these functions, have you?" Shivaay asked drily.

"God no."

"I'll be lucky if I have an hour to myself."

"F***, that sounds miserable."

It did. That was why Shivaay preferred minimal fuss when he was on his own, and why he preferred being on his own as much as possible. It was why he made do' with one assistant versus his mother's forty-six staff.

There was a soft knock at the door. "Ready to leave whenever you are, Mr. Oberoi," the attendant said.

Shivaay ignored it and continued talking to Omkara for a few minutes more. He was jealous as hell that his friend got to poke around in the marshes of Spain for the next few weeks while Shivaay had to dress up in starchy suits, kiss babies, and have his blasted photo taken eight hundred times a day.

Rudra should have been an oberoi, not loved people. Shivaay could barely tolerate them.

When he could put off the inevitable no longer, Shivaay ended the call with Omkara, put away his laptop, and left his private room. He nodded at the attendant at the far end of the plane and sat in his seat, rubbing his face. He was looking forward to this about as much as one would look forward to a tooth extraction, or perhaps a vasectomy. He pondered a list of horrific things that could possibly be less painful than a week-long royal wedding.

He buckled his seat belt, closed his eyes and leaned back, and the plane began to taxi forward. Shivaay kept his eyes closed, relaxing, as the plane ascended into the air, the roar of the engines drowning out everything but his own thoughts. Eventually the sound of the engines leveled out, and Shivaay became aware of a new noise.

Clicking.

He frowned, opening his eyes just in time to see the flight attendant lean over his chair. "Can I get you anything, Mr. Oberoi?"

He shook his head. "I'm fine."

She nodded and disappeared, and the clicking began again. He looked to his left. Nothing. Looked behind him.

And paused.

What on earth . . .

There was a woman behind him. And she was knitting.

That was . . . odd.

This had to be Siddharth's had texted him last night and told him that she'd send her over to meet him at his plane. To be perfectly honest, he'd been so wrapped up in his own misery that he hadn't even given it much thought. It was just taken care of.

But this? This made him pause.

This woman was a mess. Her hair was a messy pile of cockscrew and wavy curls that haloed her head in a frizzy nimbus, barely brushing her slim shoulders. She was lightly tanned. Her face was round and looked impossibly young . . . except for the knitting. And she had on what had to be the most sincerely godawful ugly suit he'd ever seen. It hung off her small frame like a shapeless sack, and he was pretty sure that shiny fabric was polyester. Dear God.

He'd asked for competent. Experienced. Mallika had assured him that Siddharth's assistant was all these things.

Mallika.

He'd bloody kill her when he got back.

"Just who are you?" Shivaay barked out at the strange woman, furious. He was too polite to add the bloody hell that he wanted to that statement. This had to be a mistake.

She blinked slowly. Twice. As if it were difficult to do so. Long, black lashes skimmed her eyes and there was something peculiar about her gaze. Her eyes were extremely dark.

"Hmm," she said in a husky drawl that was so thick that it made him inwardly cringe. Small hands dropped the knitting into her lap and she stuck one out at him. "I'm Anika. That's Anika after both my Papa Aniket and Ma Ketki."

He just stared. "Please tell me the words Papa' and Ma' did not just come out of your mouth."

She tilted her head and blinked slowly again. Then she giggled, the sound musical and sweet and young. "You must be Mr. Gryffindor."

"Shivaay," he gritted. Up in the front of the cabin, he heard the flight attendant smoother a laugh, and he shot her an irritated look.

"I think I would be a Hufflepuff," she said, her voice quite serious. "They seem to be the happiest ones. Quite homey, Hufflepuff."

He stared at her a moment longer, and then looked over at the flight attendant. "Is she drunk?"

The attendant's eyes widened. "I only gave her two drinks, sir."

"Sounds like two too many," he muttered. He turned back to the wild-haired woman, who was blinking those owl-like eyes at him. "Are you drunk?"

"No sir," she breathed. "I'm Anika. That's Anika after my Papa Aniket and Ma Ketki""

"Yes, yes," he interrupted. "You already told me. And you are clearly drunk. Either that, or a fool. Why did Siddharth send you?"

"Double time," she said, and gave him a beaming smile. "You're caught in a poke and I get to make lots of money and a fancy trip to all them nice parts of Chandigarh."

Dear God, her accent got worse the more she talked. There were all kinds of revolting twangs rumbling out of her mouth. "Caught in a poke?"

He was really going to kill Mallika.

"Yes Siree," Anika breathed. "You're plumb outta assistants and so Ms. Kapoor called me and asked me if I could look after Mr. Gryffindor. And I said I surely could. How come you sound all English, Mr. Gryffindor? I thought you were from Chandigarh."

"Shivaay," he corrected again stiffly. "And we speak english and punjabi there. And I lived in Britain during my formative years."

"Ah," she said, and then leaned close. "Hogwarts, right?"

Bloody f**king hell. It was like having a conversation with a two-year-old. A very country two-year-old. He pulled out his phone and began to furiously text.

"Whatcha doin?" Anika asked, that drawl making him even angrier.

"I'm texting Siddharth to let him know how much I hate his girlfriend," Shivaay snapped. "You absolutely cannot be my assistant for this trip. This is a job that requires delicacy and an ability to maintain a tight schedule""

"I can do all that""

""and manners!" Shivaay barked. "This is inexcusable and utterly ridiculous and you are not going to be my assistant."

"I'm not?" The two words were soft and trembly.

He shot her another angry look. "Don't you dare""

But it was too late. The horrid creature burst into big, gulping, noisy sobs.

Shivaay had grown up in a family that prized restraint and considered emotional displays to be bad form. Crying? Never happened, not even when his father died. It simply wasn't done amongst the peerage, even now. And given that Shivaay normally wasn't his best with people, he really, really did not know what to do with a crying female.

This trip was going from bad to worse, and rapidly.

Shivaay stared at the sobbing young woman seated behind him. She blubbered loudly, her youthful face turning splotchy red, her wild curls bouncing as she wiped at her face with a cocktail napkin.

"Stop crying," Shivaay commanded.

She only cried harder.

This was ridiculous. He glanced at the flight attendant to see if she could help him, but she was averting her eyes, her mouth a reproachful line of disapproval. Lovely. It seemed that even his staff was not on his side.

With a sigh, Shivaay looked back at the awful creature that was his assistant. "What will it take for you to stop crying?"

She sniffed loudly. "I need a hug."

"You what?"

She extended her arms out.

"I'm not hugging you."

She began to cry harder.

Shivaay's jaw clenched so hard he heard his molars scrape. This was beyond ridiculous. "Stop crying," he said again.

"You don't like me," she blubbered.

No, I don't, he wanted to say, but he had no desire to see more waterworks. He decided to try manipulation instead. "I will if you stop crying."

"O-okay," she said, and sniffed loudly.

That worked? Really? That had been easier than he'd thought. Shivaay gave her a firm nod and turned back around in his chair. He'd give the creature some time to compose herself, and then he'd see the best way to get rid of her as soon as they stopped for refueling. He'd have to borrow a few members of staff from his mother, or his older brother, and he'd simply have to endure their incessant advice about adding employees and then cheerfully discard any suggestions once he got back to Delhi. He barely glanced over as the creature got up from her seat, likely to go and clean herself up in the powder room. He was still thinking about staffing issues and how his mother would point out smugly that she'd warned him of such a problem, and she couldn't possibly spare one of her own staff, because"

A shadow fell over Shivaay.

He looked up, just in time for the strange, bizarre woman to drop herself into his lap and wrap her arms around his neck.

He stiffened in shock.

Had this . . . horrible woman really just climbed into his lap and put her arms around his neck? It wasn't to be endured. He was her employer, first of all, and this wasn't proper in the slightest. He was also a royal, and no one touched royalty without their permission, even in this day and age. "Miss," he said flatly. "What do you think you are doing?"

She burrowed her face against his neck. "Told you I needed a hug," she mumbled. And she snuggled closer, oblivious to his rigid posture.

"Get off me."

She ignored him.

He looked for the attendant to help him out, but she'd disappeared from her seat, no doubt hiding up in the cockpit with the pilots. Blast.

Shivaay was trapped.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, trying to think. Strands of curly hair tickled his nose as she nuzzled closer, and he began to feel inappropriately aroused. Her arms around his neck were soft, her hairfragrant, and her slight hip was pressing against his co***. Any red-blooded male would have that reaction, he told himself.

All the more reason to get her off his lap.

So he thought for a moment. What was her name? "Get up, girl."

She gave a small sigh of pleasure and tucked her head even closer to his neck. "Don't wanna." Her lips moved against his throat, and Shivaay shifted in his seat, willing his c**k to quit responding to the touch of a drunk woman.

"What is your name again?"

"Anika," she breathed, and her soft breath tickled his skin.

"I need you to get off me, Anika," Shivaay said, mentally applauding himself at his calm, even tone despite the odd situation. "It isn't proper."

Her head jerked up, narrowly missing his jaw, and she peered up at him. As she did, he noticed that her red-rimmed eyes were a brilliant brown that seemed to glow in her face. Damn it, those were rather nice eyes for a little country bumpkin who wore polyester.

That was another thought he shouldn't have as her employer, he reminded himself.

"You still gonna get rid of me?" she asked, and her hand began to play with his hair, fingers toying with the base of his neck in a way that sent inappropriate shivers through his body.

Shivaay gazed into those big brown eyes. He decided to level with her. "This is a very delicate job""

"I'm good with handling delicate things."

Great, now his mind was thinking of those small hands playing with his hair and touching all kinds of delicate things. Inappropriate. Inappropriate.

"But this is a job that will require a lot of skill"" Oh, hell, now that was a particularly bad choice of words.

"I have skills," Anika said in a husky voice, staring up at him. The side of her breast was pressing against his chest, and it felt a great deal rounder than what that godawful suit led on. "I can file, and take messages and type and I'm a burn talker."

He was about to scoff at that paltry list of skills when he caught the last part of what she was saying. "A what? What in the devil is a burn talker?"

"It's me. I'm a healer. If you burn yourself, I just rub it and talk to the burn and make it go away." And now her fingers were rubbing the exposed line of skin at his neck. God have mercy.

"That sounds ridiculous," he said, and cleared his throat because his voice wasn't as convincing as it should have been. "And you should really get off my lap. This is very . . . inappropriate." He sounded like a stuffy prig.

"Burn talkers are real," Anika said in a dreamy voice. "We have great hands. Great at rubbing. I can take the heat out of anything with a touch."

Good God, his body reacted to that. Did she even realize what she was saying? "You really should get off my lap."

"You need me."

He groaned. Parts of his anatomy were agreeing with her, and that was making him furious not only with her, but himself.

She stared up at him again. "Are you still going to get rid of me?"

"I certainly am now that you are flinging yourself all over me," Shivaay began, and glanced down at her upturned face again. There was something else about her deep eyes that was bothering him. After a moment, he realized what it was. Her pupils were dilated to an enormous size. He frowned and grabbed her face, peering into her eyes. That was more than just two drinks. Concern flared through him as he recalled Rohan's horrific recent stories of his sister overdosing in front of him. His friend was still scarred from the fact. "Did you take something else?"

"Just a happy pill," she told him, petting his hair and looking up at him with soft, drugged eyes. "I don't like flying. It scares me."

"Damn it. Give me your pill bottle." He needed to see if she was going to start foaming or convulsing in the next few minutes. This horrible trip was just getting worse by the minute.

"'Kay." Instead of getting up, Anika twisted in his arms, mashing her br**sts against his chest as she reached behind her. There was no question"she was stacked in the front despite her baggy suit, and she was pushing them against him with enthusiasm.

Shivaay closed his eyes and counted backward from a hundred to distract himself as she shifted and twisted in his arms, rubbing all over him.

When he was at seventy-two, she twisted back to the front. "Here you go, Mr. Gryffindor."

He opened his eyes and flinched. This crazy woman had a purse that looked like a saddle. "This is your handbag?"

"Isn't it something?" She seemed proud.

"Oh, it's something," he muttered. He took it from her and began to dig through the contents, and his hand wrapped around a small pill bottle a moment later. He read the side of it and then looked over at her.

Her face was inches away from his, and she was staring at him, doing that weird, slow blink.

"It says that you're not supposed to mix this with alcohol," he pointed out unnecessarily.

"Did you know that you have a really straight nose?" She touched the bridge of his nose with the tip of her finger and then ran it all the way down to the tip. "Like one of them guys on the coins."

"Lovely. Can you get off my lap while I look up side effects of this on the Internet? No? Figures." He picked up his smartphone and typed with his thumb, while she played with his hair and ran her hands all over him. He had the biggest e****** at the moment, thanks to her careless touches and wiggling, but he suspected she wouldn't notice a thing . . . which was good, because he was rather chagrined about it himself.

It seemed that alcohol combined with her anxiety drugs made the effect that much stronger. Lovely. That explained her bizarre actions, at least.

"Your hair's funny," she breathed into his ear, and gave a soft giggle that made his c*** twitch all over again.

He flicked his phone off and frowned at her. "Funny?"

"It's like it's spackled down. That's funny." Her fingers played at the crisp lines of it. "I bet it'd be pretty if you didn't put so much hair goop in it."

"The last thing I want is to be pretty'," he told her in a tight voice. "Now. Come on. Stand up."

Though she protested (and if he was honest, so did his c***), he managed to get her to stand upright. He got up and when she put her arms up around his neck again, he figured that was a good thing, and lifted her into his arms. Carrying her to the back room, he laid her down on the narrow bed he kept there for flights . . . like tonight's."Ooo, is it nap time?" Anika's drawl seemed to get thicker with every word she spoke. "You going to come sleep with me, Mr. Gryffindor?"

"No," he said in a firm voice. "You are going to lay there and sleep, and when you are no longer out of your mind, we are going to discuss what we're going to do with you. Understand?"

"You're not very nice," she muttered as he laid her on the bed. She wiggled into the pillows. Her skirt hiked up, showing far too much tanned thigh, and he felt himself break out into a cold sweat.

He was definitely going to kill Mallika when he got back.

He averted his gaze and pulled a throw blanket over her legs so she was modest. "Sleep. We'll talk later."

"Not tired," she said, and then ruined it by yawning hugely.

"Stay there anyhow," he commanded her.

It didn't matter, because she was already drifting off to sleep. He watched her for a minute longer, completely confounded by the entire situation. Then, rubbing his face to refocus, he left the small room, shut the door, and returned to his chair.

And picked up his phone so he could finish his text to Siddharth. Your girlfriend is dead to me.

Sorry man. Anika was available, though.

She's rotten. She's wearing a polyester zip-up suit. It's disgraceful. I'm supposed to mix with royalty this week with her at my side?

There was a long pause, and then Siddharth responded. Mallika says that you're a snob. And Anika is very sweet and hardworking. We didn't lie about that. She was also the only one available at the last minute, so take what you can get.

I am not a snob. Well, he was, but he didn't give a shit, really. And she's going back on the first flight I can dump her on.

Suit yourself, Siddharth texted back. And a moment later, another text came through. SNOBSNOBSNOBBYSNOB.

Shivaay rolled his eyes. I hate you, Mallika. Give the phone back to Siddharth.

He got nothing but a smiley face in return.


End file.
